


Clean

by abundantlyqueer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-29
Updated: 2003-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viggo likes to live clean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean

Viggo likes to live clean. He likes to keep his palate -- physical, spiritual, emotional -- clear enough that he can discriminate the subtle flavors of an authentic life. He savors what is silent and slight: experiences that come quietly, reach deep, and stay long because they are real. People who know him wonder how he can be an actor -- how someone so completely focused on the genuine can be so good at pretending. The key, of course, is that real acting is about truth, not artifice.  
Viggo doesn't drink coffee. He gets by on little enough sleep as it is, and from the moment he opens his eyes, the waking world presses on his senses with all the immediacy he could wish for. Coffee just puts sharp edges where they aren't supposed to be, and eats his stomach besides. Even in the gray predawn of the location shoots, Viggo is unwilling to be cheated of his encounter with the aching heaviness in his limbs and the relentless downwards slide of his eyelids. Aragorn stands about sipping hot water sweetened with the faintest smudge of honey.  
Orli squints eastwards at the first trace of day as if the petal-fine light hurts his eyes, and scrubs his hand over the porcupine crest of his butchered hair.  
"Oh man, I need a coffee," he groans, his light tenor voice rough with exhaustion and too much yelling over loud music last night. Legolas stands in the blossoming morning tapping the rim of his mug against his lower lip, blond hair swept forward over his shoulder while a weapons technician makes some adjustment to the quiver on his back. There's always a few seconds delay on the morning takes while someone ducks in and out of shot to relieve the elf of his coffee.  
At lunchtime, Orli mostly pushes food around his plate and drinks an infinite number of coffee refills from the thick white cups the catering service uses. He's getting jagged now, his hands restlessly tapping and rapping and turning his cup so he can drink from the wrong side of the rim. Elijah cuts him off, tells the food-service staff to give him decaf for the rest of the day. Orli doesn't even care; he's so insanely buzzed that even the trace amounts of caffeine in decaf will keep him up there.  
In the afternoons Orli's too wired to sit or even just stand between takes; he bounces on his toes like a prizefighter waiting for the bell. When he's wanted, he strides to his mark and then heels the turf underfoot like he's preparing to run a race. But when the call for action comes he stills, suddenly drenched in the cool composure of the character he's playing. He hits his marks effortlessly, recreates a nuance of tone or expression over and over with absolute accuracy. Sometimes the scene puts Viggo close enough to see the fine tremor in Orli's hands, and catch the smell of coffee on his breath.  
Even cold dregs in a cup have a scent that makes something in Viggo's chest drop heavily, driving heat and weight into the bowl of his pelvis, and pushing his heartbeat up into his throat. Viggo tells himself that this isn't a real feeling. It's just the caffeine.


End file.
